


Been Picked Up And Been Sedated

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: Drugs, Gen, Mental Disorder, Mental Institutions, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psychiatric hospital AU. Travis' only hope is to reach out to the two people who are just as damaged as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been Picked Up And Been Sedated

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to romanticalgirl for editing and suggestions. Also thanks to the moderators and to hc_bingo for allowing me to use this story as a fill for the suicide attempt square on my card. Check out maggiebloome's fanmix [here](http://morganya.livejournal.com/267470.html).

Travis measures his time by pill dosage. He has Adderall and Xanax to start the morning, Dexedrine for the afternoon, more Xanax to counteract the stimulants as needed, and at the end of the day there's Seconal to help him get to sleep. His whole life is a carefully orchestrated chemical balance.

Just keeping himself in a state of equilibrium is exhausting. He goes through the day like he's made of glass, trying to guard against any stray shock, and by the time he gets home he's too tired to sleep or eat. It's all he can do to make sure the dog gets fed and walked.

The other guys at work think that he just likes to keep to himself, or maybe that he's a snob or something. Really, except for Matt, nobody knows him that well. Matt is the exception, but they've known each other since high school. Matt might have his suspicions about Travis, but he's got a girlfriend and a baby and their lives don't intersect as much as they once did.

Every morning when his alarm goes off, it just means another day of the same shit.

*****

He's thought about doing it, off and on, since he was fifteen. The only thing that stopped him was that he wanted to do it right. He's been to enough funerals to know how it hurts to lose someone at first. He knows how hard it is to deal with what's left behind. When his cousin passed it took months to sort through his shit and deal with the creditors.

He's a lot more organized than Isaiah was, though. He's got an apartment, a dog, about a thousand canvases in varying degrees of completion. The apartment's a rental, so after he's gone the landlord can just put it right back on the market without much fuss. His family can divide up the paintings; the quantity of canvases makes it less likely that people will fight over them. The dog is the one thing he's worried about.

He doesn't want to die without making sure that someone's out there to look after Stitch. If he thinks about Stitch going to some kill shelter where he gets locked up and never played with, his throat starts to close up. For a while, the thought of what would happen to Stitch was the only thing that kept him going.

Finally he realizes that he's been overthinking things. Stitch is good with kids; he's been letting Zooey drool on him since the day she was born. There's no way that Matt would let anyone take the dog away, not when he knows how much Stitch means to Travis.

After that, everything falls into place.

*****

On Friday, he finishes up the project and sends the files over to the art director. She looks them over and tells him that the client will be pleased with what he's done. She says, "You can relax now that this is finished."

After work, he goes to the store and picks up dog food and booze. He goes back to the apartment, puts everything in its place, and then takes Stitch for a walk. He stays out for a long time and lets Stitch sniff every single lamp post.

He puts the spare key under the welcome mat when he gets back. He brings Stitch back up to the apartment and puts him in the bathroom with some food and water and his favorite chew toy, the monkey one. He sits on the edge of the shower, watching Stitch get settled, and tells him how things are going to be better, next time around it'll be better, and then he has to leave because he's getting sentimental and that's dangerous. He doesn't want to talk himself out of this.

He goes out to the couch. He picks up his phone and texts Matt, _Pick up Stitch when you get a chance. Keys in the reg place_. He turns off the phone and puts it on the table, opens the Scotch and takes a swig. It burns his throat for a second and tears come to his eyes, but then it goes away. He uncaps the Seconal.

His first thought is that he can just throw them all back and swallow them like TicTacs, but he doesn't really want to think about actually holding the pills in his hand and choking them back. Instead he taps three into his palm and sends them down on a wave of Scotch. He likes this better; there's a mindless repetition that makes it easy to focus. He taps, swigs, swallows and taps again.

He's got a good month's supply to pick from, but he thinks he'll be good if he even gets through half that much. He's just going to go until he starts to get drowsy, and then he'll fall asleep and that will be the end of it.

It seems to take a long time, but finally his eyes start getting heavy. He puts the bottle on the floor and lies down. He closes his eyes and doesn't think.

The couch starts to spin while he's hovering on the edge of sleep. He rolls over heavily onto his side, but the couch just spins faster. He realizes he's fucked something up when his stomach starts to lurch. He should have tried to eat something before he started this, maybe, but he didn't and now he's going to be very sick real soon.

He can't go into the bathroom because Stitch is in there, and he's too fucked up to even try to make it to the kitchen sink. He manages to grab the wastebasket right before he starts retching, and somewhere in the part of his brain that's still detached from what's going on, he's thinking, _Well, this is a hell of a thing._

The pills clink when they hit the bottom of the metal wastebasket. His vision is hazy but he can still see an ugly slurry of bile and blood and Seconal coating the sides, pills that hadn't even gotten a chance to start dissolving before he lost them, and he thinks, _Fuck, I needed those._

The dry heaves have barely started when he realizes that he's going to pass out. He pushes the wastebasket aside and prays it stays upright because that's going to be a bitch to clean up. He tries to get back to the couch but his legs won't work right. He rises halfway to his knees and then pitches forward onto the floor, head landing in the crook of his arm before the world goes dark.

*****

There's something in his nose. He smells plastic and sanitizer, and his throat feels raw. He tries to swat at whatever's in his nose, and then he hears the rustle of his elbow on bedsheets and his stomach twists. He keeps his eyes closed, because he doesn't want to open them and have things be confirmed, he just wants to keep them shut and pretend.

"Travis," he hears his father say.

He can't deny it any longer, so he opens his eyes. Pops is sitting across from him. His eyes are red and his hands grip the edge of Travis' hospital bed tightly.

Travis thinks, _You fucking asshole, you don't even know how to kill yourself right._

"Matt called the ambulance," his father says. His voice is low and controlled, and Travis doesn't know what's running behind it. He doesn't say anything.

"Travis," his father says again. Travis looks at him. "They said if they'd hadn't gotten there when they did, you'd be on life support now. Did you think, after what happened to your cousin –" He cuts himself off.

Of course Matt called an ambulance. That was where Travis fucked up, texting instead of just emailing him at work. Because even when they don't cross paths as much, Matt knows him inside and out. Of course Travis hadn't thought about that because he's a fucking failure.

"Matt's got the dog," Pops says, back to controlled again. "He'll look after him. And…your mom and I think you should stay somewhere for a while."

Travis gets it. Someone told Pops that he's crazy and that's why Pops isn't ripping him a new one right now. Because you can't get angry at unpredictable crazy people unless they're thoroughly restrained.

"The company put you on medical leave," Pops says. "We'll find somewhere that can help you."

Travis doesn't answer. He's tired and he just doesn't give a shit.

"Travis."

"Fine," Travis says, and turns his face to the wall.

*****

The protocol for transportation, when moving from intensive care to a nice cushy psychiatric lockdown unit, is an ambulance ride. Pops comes with him, bringing along some of Travis' clothes and a bunch of insurance papers. The driver says, when they're sitting among the defibrillators and oxygen masks, "Nice day for a ride, isn't it?"

Pops stares at him. The driver mumbles something and looks back at the road.

Travis' bones hurt. He's been flooded with saline and activated charcoal and it wiped out his chemical equilibrium. The hospital kept giving him the Adderall and they decided to stick him on Lexapro for the hell of it, but they showed a massive lack of consideration for his carefully orchestrated mix of uppers and downers and benzos, and he's feeling the loss.

The ambulance comes to a stop. After a minute the driver comes and opens the back to let them get out. Travis sees red brick and a gravel walkway and some trees and figures that's going to be his last look at the outside world. He follows his father into Admitting.

They start asking questions in the office and Travis freezes over the paperwork. He knows what they want. They're asking him to dredge up all the pieces of his past that brought him here, to offer an orderly explanation of what happened, but he hasn't got one. They try to prompt him into laying everything out, but he doesn't know what to say.

The third time they ask and he's unable to answer, they turn things over to his father. Somehow Pops is able to give them a fairly cohesive account. Travis nods when Pops looks at him for confirmation.

Pops hugs him before they take him away, after all the papers are signed. He promises to visit, to tell Travis' mom to come by. Travis has a feeling that his mother's horror of hospitals makes the request kind of useless, but he nods. He thinks Pops is waiting to leave so he can cry.

They bring him into a room where they make him take his clothes off so they can search him for any suicide-friendly items; his sneakers get confiscated because the laces look iffy. All the walls seem to be the exact same shade of blue-gray. They're telling him about visiting hours and where the smoking area is, and he keeps staring at the walls, flat latex paint cracking at the corners, and it's all he can do to put his clothes back on and nod at them until they stop talking.

They bring him to the unit where he's going to be staying. The orderly says, "It's quiet right now because group's going on, but you'll meet everyone soon enough," before punching in the code to unlock the doors.

Travis manages to register the hallways, the nurses' station and a central area with a TV, but that's about all he can process. His room is large and artificially bright, with three beds and a bathroom. He holds himself upright while they wind down the spiel, which finishes with the orderly saying that someone will be by to check on him in half an hour, and then it's over.

He falls asleep on top of the bedcovers.

*****

Things keep happening to him. His whole body hurts, and the door to the room keeps opening and closing. He gets pills in a paper cup and swallows them. Sometimes he hears someone who sounds like a doctor saying things like _intravenous_ and _nasogastric_ and sometimes there are two different people, but they mostly just mumble over him. He can't understand what they're saying so he doesn't care who they are or if they're real.

He wakes up to an orderly standing over the bed and calling his name. The throbbing in his bones has slowed to a dull ache, and he's able to keep his eyes open for a while.

The orderly says, "Travis, my name is David and I'm here to take you to lunch."

Travis doesn't say anything. David doesn't seem to notice. "It's mostly voluntary here, unless you don't eat. Then what happens is we transfer you to Medical and you eat through a tube in your nose, which I promise you is not nice."

He doesn't think he can go through another round of everyone's explanations and procedures. He nods and unpeels himself from his sheets.

It takes five minutes to get out of bed. He gets dizzy when he stands up all the way and David has to guide him out into the hall. There are some people milling around, but they're mostly either staring into space or talking to themselves and they don't pay him any mind.

By the time he gets into a chair in the dining area, he's sweaty and exhausted. Eating seems like more of a hassle than it's worth, but he doesn't have the will to protest. He gets through a plate of something and David says, "Now, isn't that better?"

Travis stares at the table. David just keeps talking. "So, feel like watching TV? Maybe another day."

David guides him back to the room and then leaves after telling him that someone will be by to take him to dinner. Travis lies back down. The food feels heavy in the pit of his stomach. It just serves as another reminder that he's still alive.

*****

"I still think he's dead," someone says.

"I saw him in the dining room yesterday. He was eating toast. He's not dead."

Travis sort of recognizes the voices; they're the ones who've been murmuring over him. They sound a little clearer today. One of them has a soft Midwestern voice and the other one has a mix of New Jersey and some sort of faded Latin accent.

"Might be a zombie," the Latin one says. "People can make zombies. His lashes are really fuckin' long. They look like spiders. Spiders on his eyelids."

"Gabe, leave him alone. You keep encroaching on him," Midwest says.

"I'm not. He's got a tattoo on his neck. There's more than one."

"If you get in his personal space and they catch you, you'll get written up."

"Checks aren't for another ten minutes," Latin says. "He moved!"

"Gabe. If you want to watch _Broadwalk Empire_ tonight, you need to go reserve the television so you don't lose your spot."

"Shit," Latin says, and there's a rush of air on Travis' face from the departure. Midwest doesn't say anything else, though Travis can feel himself being considered. Eventually he hears book pages being turned, very slowly, but the attention doesn't waver.

*****

He takes more pills. Sometimes an orderly comes and walks him to the dining area where he eats things he doesn't taste. Midwest and Latin talk in the night, sometimes to him and sometimes to each other.

"Hey, big dude," Latin says. "We're going to group. You should come with us."

Travis doesn't know what he's talking about. Latin says, "Hey, it's cool. I'm not a doctor, so you can listen to me. You're starting to grow mold there." There's a rustling noise and Travis feels breath on his face. "Hello?"

"Gabe, don't bother him," Midwest says from somewhere in the corner.

"I'm not. I'm just looking. Big dude?" A finger taps rapidly on Travis' shoulder. "You still alive?"

"Don't _poke_ him," says Midwest sharply. "That's awful. Stop it."

"Oh," Latin says. The tapping turns to patting. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Gabe. You're doing it again. You need to get out of people's personal space, shit."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Latin says in Travis' ear, and there's the sound of denim scraping on linoleum. "Sorry, Billvy."

"Forget about it," Midwest says. "You go ahead and I'll see you there, okay?"

"Okay."

There's silence for a while. Then Travis hears Midwest telling him, "You're never going to get out of here if you don't cooperate with them."

*****

Latin is named Gabe, and Midwest is probably named William; Travis isn't too sure because Gabe calls him a thousand different things almost interchangeably: Billvy, Bill, William, Will. Travis doesn't know why either of them is interested in him.

Gabe likes to plant himself fairly close to Travis' bed and talk at considerable speed before his attention span runs out and he wanders off. William's a little more awkward but he still comes over and asks concerned questions – if Travis is warm enough or if he wants a glass of water. Travis isn't used to being fussed over.

Travis wants to just keep his eyes shut forever. But then Gabe thumps down next to his head and sings, "'Our favorite patient, display impatience, disease-covered Puget Sound,'" and it's loud and close enough that Travis turns and opens his eyes.

Gabe doesn't look like Travis expected. He's got an ugly-looking bruise that covers the right side of his face in greens and yellows and blues. They stare at each other.

"Bill!" Gabe says. "Billvy! He looked at me! I saw him!"

"What?" William says from the corner of the room. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling in a notebook.

"I brought him back," Gabe says. "I brought you back." His face is very close to Travis and his eyes are very big.

Travis manages to gain some space by squirming backward and propping his back against the wall, just as William stands up and looks at him. He's got shaggy brown hair that needs to be cut. He says, " _Oh_."

"I brought him back!" Gabe says. "I brought him back from the dead."

"Gabe, move back. Give him some space."

"It's all about energy," Gabe says. "Energy flows through my body and –"

"Or maybe you just annoyed him so much that he had to get away," William says tartly. He edges around the bed, examining Travis while still keeping his distance. "He's freaked out. Look at him."

Gabe's eyes flash. He scratches his neck agitatedly but gets up and sits on his own bed. Travis rolls onto his stomach and rests his chin in the crook of his arm, watching. He catches a whiff of himself when he moves his arm; he smells like old sweat and dirty clothes.

William says, peering out from behind his hair, "Hello. I'm William. What's your name?"

He isn't sure if he can answer or not. He tries to open his mouth and say his name but his throat closes on him and all he can manage is a croak.

"Don't sweat it," Gabe says, abruptly coming out of his sulk. "Everyone talks too much anyway. I'm Gabe. We're all roomies."

Travis takes a closer look at the room. The walls are beige, and the beds, also beige, are set up against them. There's one narrow window showing a little scrap of sky. There's a desk with a phone against the far wall.

"We lucked out and got that," Gabe says when he sees Travis looking. "Most places don't let you have a phone. They think the crazies are going to call all their friends to bust them out."

"When's Dr. Hartmann coming again, Gabe?" William says.

"I don't know, what time's it now? Hey, maybe I'll get to go for a walk. I can't stay inside forever. Maybe when you're up to it we can go outside," he says to Travis. "There are birds and shit outside."

"How about you cross that road when you come to it?" William says.

"Okay," Gabe says. "I should go out and wait for him. He's coming in like five minutes. Then I'll get him to take me outside." He springs up and then he's out the door.

"He means well, really," William says to Travis. "He's just…it can be a little much at first. It's good to see you up, though. Do you need some time to yourself?"

The way they've been talking, he's had nothing but time to himself since he got here, but still, being awake is really fucking tiring. He nods.

"Okay," William says. He drops back onto his bed and reaches for the notebook. His sleeve slips down as he picks it up; there's a gauze bandage wrapped around his wrist. "We're not going anywhere."

*****

He wants to talk but he can't. He doesn't know if it's because he's been sleeping twenty hours a day and that fucked him up, or if his brain just decided it'd had enough of speech and shut down. It would be fine if he didn't have to deal with anyone else, but he's got the staff in his face and he has no idea what to do with them.

It seems like it should be easy enough to say, "No, vegetarian," when they stick a plate of chicken in front of him in the dining area, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth, and it's easier to just go hungry. The staff move around like they know what they're doing, quick and official, and it leaves him out of the loop.

Eventually he realizes that he smells. He hasn't showered or shaved in he doesn't know how long, and the smell of his own body is getting gross. He has no idea what to do. When William or Gabe shower, they get one of the staff to turn on the water and then stand by the bathroom door, probably to keep an eye on things. He doesn't know how he's going to manage to do that. It seems like too many steps to take.

He stands in the middle of the room, rubbing his fingers over the back of his sticky neck, trying to figure out where to go next, and then Gabe bustles into the room, whistling. "Hey," he says. "How's it going? Did Billvy go see his shrink?"

William left ten minutes ago with a woman carrying an official-looking notepad. Travis shrugs.

"I never know when she's coming," Gabe complains. "She's hot. I could get with her. What's the matter with you, anyway?"

It's embarrassing, but the only thing he can rely on at the moment is charades. He makes scrubbing motions over his chest.

"Need the shower?" Gabe asks. Travis nods. "I'll ask for you when they come around in a couple minutes. Think you can hang on that long?"

He shrugs. He makes shaving motions. Gabe says, "Shaving's a pain in the ass. They need to haul out the fuckin' cart, you know, and there's a thing with gloves and shit. But if you really want it, I'll let them know."

It sounds like too much hassle. He shakes his head. Gabe says, "Good choice. I'd grow a mustache if I could get away with it but it makes me look creepy. Why are mustaches always creepy? That's fucked up."

One of the orderlies stops by the door, saying, "Checks." Gabe waves his hands around and says, "Yo, can he grab a shower? He told me he wanted one."

"Travis?" the orderly says. Travis nods.

"Okay, I'm doing checks, but I'll ask Vince to come by and supervise. He'll be by in a minute."

"Oh, come on, dude," Gabe says. "Look at him, he's filthy. Have a heart."

"I've got to do my job too, Gabe," the orderly says wearily. "Five minutes."

"Slime of bureaucracy," Gabe says.

"Yes, Gabe, that's it exactly," says the orderly and goes on to the next room.

"Hey, if you don't want to walk out of there with your cock hanging out, you should grab a change of clothes," Gabe says to Travis. "Or maybe you want to wear what you've got on. I wouldn't, though, if you want my opinion about it. They're getting a little funky. Rick James funky."

Travis realizes that he has no idea where the clothes Pops brought for him are. Gabe must see him looking confused, because he says, "They stuck your shit in the dresser over there. Better check to make sure you have all of it."

Someone comes by with soap and shampoo and towels just as Travis manages to find a clean set of clothes. He says, "You can leave your dirty clothes in the bathroom and we'll throw them in the laundry for you."

Travis thinks if he has to strip off in front of the orderly that he's going to have to reconsider showering, but luckily he just goes to turn the water on and then comes outside, saying, "I'm going to check in on you in about ten minutes." Travis goes in, puts the clean clothes aside and takes off his dirty clothes, dumping them on top of the toilet.

The water isn't as hot as he likes it and the soap has a weird industrial smell, but at least he doesn't feel like he just crawled out of a sewer anymore. He gets out and looks at himself in the mirror. The beard's kind of going Grizzly Adams on him, but he'll save that for another day. He looks for a toothbrush but can't find one, so he just turns on the sink and sucks some water into his mouth, swishing it around and spitting it out. His teeth feel a little better.

"All set?" the orderly asks when Travis emerges, and within five seconds he's gone and swept up the dirty clothes, whipped the sheets off Travis' bed and disappeared.

"He was sneaky," Gabe says. "Thought he'd change the sheets too. Can't turn your back around here." Travis sits on his bare mattress. "Oh, come on. Don't do that. Don't sit there like a hobo. I have granola bars, you should have some."

Travis looks at him. Gabe gestures him over and then starts rattling around under his bed. "Do you like apricots? I had ones with chocolate chips, but they're all gone now. These are pretty good, though." He brings out a box of something that looks organic and extracts a bar.

Travis sits on the edge of Gabe's bed. Gabe breaks the granola in half and passes it to him. "Maybe we can get you a notepad to write shit on. Or flashcards. That'd be cool."

Travis takes a bite and chews slowly. The apricot bits stick to his teeth but otherwise it's okay.

*****

It seems likely that the orderly who's meant to be escorting him to lunch isn't going to show up, and no one else seems to notice. Travis has been standing near the door pondering whether he can actually make the trip by himself (it's not like the food is great, but he's actually hungry for once and it's something to do), but he's not making it. When he actually tries to break going outside the room and down to the dining area into steps, there seems to be about four thousand of them and it's too much.

"I can ask one of them to come by," William says. "There was just a shift change. Someone can get over here."

Gabe says angrily, "By the time they get off their asses, there won't be any food left."

"Gabe –"

"Fuck this," Gabe says, just as Travis is resigning himself to going hungry. "Someone dropped the ball. You can come with me. We'll walk arm in arm and pretend we're on the fuckin' French Riviera."

"That could work," William says. "Travis, do you think that's okay?"

He thinks about it. Gabe's a little excessive, but the buddy system makes things a little less overwhelming, and it's nice to have someone looking out for him. He nods.

"Awesome," Gabe says and hooks his arm with Travis'. "Will, are you coming?"

"In a couple of minutes," William says. "I've got some stuff to do around here." He scrapes his hair back and ties it into a bun.

Gabe strides out with him and walks him down the hall. "I hope they have something decent. Bill says that the meat-eaters get it just as bad as we do, but I think he's just trying to make me feel better. Salad's okay, though. You should have some salad. Is that tabbouleh?" He maneuvers around a guy staring at the salad bar and grabs a serving spoon.

There's an orderly standing by the wall watching Gabe get the plates together. When Gabe finishes she says, "Gabe, you know Travis needs someone to walk him to the dining area."

"Yeah, and it's me," Gabe says. "One of your guys didn't show up. What am I supposed to do, let him starve? If he gets any skinnier he'll disappear. Don't blame me for your staff fuckups."

She looks from him to Travis. Gabe says, "Has he been violent? Has he been a problem? He just needs someone to help him out. I can help him."

She thinks for a minute. "I'll let Dr. Abrams know. But next time, if someone doesn't show up, let us know, okay? Nobody's going to let you go hungry," she tells Travis.

Gabe grunts. He leads Travis to a table. Travis picks up his fork.

"They're okay, really," Gabe says, watching the orderly settle back against the wall. "They're just used to dealing with crazy people. If someone hits them with logic, they fuckin' fall apart. Do you want tea? I just grabbed the juice because it was there. Or is it okay?"

He nods. Gabe looks satisfied and starts picking at his tabbouleh.

The dining area's about half-full. Travis sees William enter, hands in his pockets. When he gets a plate together he goes to an empty table by the far wall and sits down, keeping his eyes on his plate.

"Billvy's got his own thing going on," Gabe says. "Don't take it personally. I like having lunch with you. We should do it again."

*****

Travis guesses that the hospital has some sort of art program, because when William wanders into the room, Gabe says, "What did you make?"

"It's not very good," William says. "I was never an art guy."

"I want to see," Gabe says. "C'mon, let me see."

William lays a piece of paper on the dresser and Gabe snatches it up. "It's a little man," he says. "A little dude wearing a hat."

"It's an armadillo," William says, looking pained.

"Oh. Well, I probably need glasses," Gabe says. "It's good though. What kind of paint is this?"

"Acrylic? I don't know. I think so." William glances at Travis. "Do you – I'm not showing off, I just –"

Travis nods. Gabe passes him the paper. It's already going stiff from the drying paint. Whatever's on the paper looks nothing like an armadillo, but the brushstrokes are very careful and deliberate.

"They were all out of the color I wanted for the sky," William says. "It was blue, but it had some weird name. It sounded Catholic."

"Monastral blue," Travis says.

It startles all of them. William and Gabe stare blankly at him with their mouths open. Travis thinks he probably looks the same way. He hadn't even known he was still capable of speech.

"Dude," Gabe says.

"Travis?" William says carefully. "Did you just…talk?"

"I think so," Travis says. He looks at William's painting. "You've got an indigo sky instead."

"Yeah?" William says.

"Yeah."

"We ought to fuckin' celebrate this occasion," Gabe says. "Although you scared the shit out of me. Give a little warning next time you want to talk, huh?" He smiles.

"Okay," Travis says. He holds out the painting to William. Gabe says, "Hey, I didn't even get to see it hardly. Give it to me."

Travis offers and Gabe snatches it. William sighs tolerantly and slings himself down on his bed just as they come around for checks.

*****

Now that he's talking and moving around, the staff takes more of an interest in him. Every time someone comes to the room for checks, they tell him about when group is or where the gym is located or something. They back off on escorting him through the halls though.

"They want me to see one of the psychiatrists here," he tells Gabe at lunch.

"Which one?" Gabe says. "There are a lot of people who work here. Hard to keep track."

Travis shrugs. "One of them."

"Yeah, one of them," Gabe says and snorts. He pushes his rice around on his plate. Gabe tends to either bolt through his food or ignore it. Travis wonders if that's because the bruise on his face – which is fading but still looks pretty ugly – makes it hard to chew.

"You can always see your own doctor," Gabe says. "My guy comes in like once a week to check to see that I haven't gone nuts in here. It's easier when you can talk to someone you know."

"Oh," Travis says. "Okay."

"Do you have a shrink? Maybe you don't have a shrink. Do you?"

He shakes his head.

"Yeah?" Gabe says. "Well, how'd you wind up in here then?"

"I don't know," Travis says. "Shit happened to me."

"Well, I know what that's like."

It's the first time Gabe's ever referred to how he got into the hospital, and Travis is curious. "How did you get in here?"

"Misunderstanding," Gabe says. "I don't blame anyone for it, you know. Everyone's got a job to do. I just wish I'd known about the security around the observation deck."

"Observation deck?" Travis says.

"Yeah, the one downtown. Big fuckin' office building?"

Something tells Travis that this conversation is about to get out of control. "Yeah."

"It wasn't their fault," Gabe stresses. "They didn't know who I was. Shit wouldn't have gotten out of hand otherwise."

Travis doesn't say anything. Gabe doesn't seem to notice. "See, I realized that God had chosen me, and I had to fulfill that purpose, and I had to do it quickly. But they didn't know that God had chosen me, or they wouldn't have tried to stop me, because they were just doing their jobs, you know? So that's where I failed, but then I realized that maybe it was a test, and really God wanted me to be here. He wanted me to help those who couldn't help themselves."

"Oh," Travis says. Gabe is vibrating and almost incandescent. "You want some ice cream?" Travis asks, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Gabe makes a face. "They only have strawberry left. I don't like strawberry."

"Okay," Travis says.

Gabe can't sit still for the rest of the lunch hour, and he rushes off as soon as people start to leave. Travis makes his way back to the room; he sees Gabe standing by the nurses' station and trying to charm the staff into doing something for him.

William is sitting cross-legged on his bed when Travis comes in. He looks Travis up and down and says, "I bet you just got the Gabe speech. The one about how he's God's messenger?"

"Uh-huh," Travis says. He drops onto his bed. "I asked how he wound up here."

"That'll do it," William says. "He told me the same thing, sort of. I guess he used to be a lot worse. Fighting with the staff and keeping everyone up all night with what he said were recitations from the Torah. He's calmed down since then."

"I didn't know," Travis says.

"Gabe looks a lot stronger than he really is," William says. "I usually just change the subject if he starts talking about it. He didn't scare you, did he?"

Travis shakes his head. William looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he just pushes a hank of hair out of his eyes. Travis can see some ugly-looking stitches running up his wrist, poking out of the sleeve of his shirt.

*****

Travis has an appointment with one of the staff psychiatrists. He comes up to the ward to walk Travis to his office, which Travis is thankful for. Navigating through hallways he doesn't know is daunting.

The psychiatrist's name is Dr. Ok. He asks the usual preliminary questions at first. The last time Travis heard these questions was when he was admitted, and then he had Pops do the heavy lifting for him. He has a feeling that he's not going to be able to get through this on his own, but he can't put together a sentence that would convey that to this doctor. He tries to stick with yes and no, and if he gets asked for details, to keep them as noncommittal as possible. He still freezes up a little when Dr. Ok asks about his mother's drinking and then about the deaths in his family. Luckily he doesn't seem like he's in a hurry to get through this shit.

"Now, you weren't really talking much at all until recently, right?" Dr. Ok asks.

"Nah," Travis says.

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," he says. "Just didn't have anything to talk about."

"Do you think you have more to say now?"

"I don't know."

"You know, up on the unit, they have group meetings every morning. It's good practice, even if you just feel like listening."

Travis shakes his head.

"You don't like that?"

"Not really."

"Why's that?"

"I've got this feeling," Travis says, "that if I look too deep I'll find out that there's nothing left of me."

*****

Gabe sometimes comes and reports if the common room has any new books or board games that can eventually be smuggled into their room. Travis' ears perk up when he wanders in and announces that there's a stack of manga in there. He quizzes Gabe on what titles, but Gabe's attention span doesn't reach that far. He wanders off before Travis can get any definitive answers.

"I can go check for you," William tells him. "Or…maybe you'd like to come with me? We can go slowly."

Travis isn't sure if he's offering out of sympathy or because he actually wants Travis' company. Both Gabe and William seem to know that he needs a push to get him started, that it's easier for him when he's got someone leading the way. So he nods and says, "Yeah, thanks," and William smiles brightly at him. He follows William to the door.

One of the patients in the next room starts yelling, a rush of frantic noise that doesn't make sense, and there's a rush from around the nurses' station. Orderlies start flying by the doorway just as William steps outside. Travis says, "Hey, careful," and grabs William's shoulder so he doesn't get knocked over.

William goes white to the lips. Travis thinks it's because of the noise – the woman next door keeps screaming and the orderlies are shouting at her – but then William twitches Travis' hand off his shoulder. For a second he looks like he's going to keep going, haul ass down the hallway, but then he scuttles back into the room and folds himself up on his bed.

Travis has no idea what just happened. It's something he did, but he doesn't know what. William is shaking and trying, unsuccessfully, to talk to him; he can't get his breath and the words are garbled.

"I'll get someone," Travis says, because he knows there must be people at the nurses' station, people with access to meds, people who know what they're doing. William shakes his head no, no, no, and Travis wants to do something reassuring but touching William is probably a horrible idea, so he goes and sits at the foot of William's bed while he calms down.

Travis thinks that someone will at least come around for checks and see that William needs help, but whatever's happening next door takes precedence. William presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and says, "I'm sorry."

Travis doesn't say anything.

"It's not your fault," William says. "I – this is going to sound crazy."

Travis looks around at the walls.

William laughs and it sounds jittery and hysterical. "Well, I guess it would have to. You ever play that game when you're a kid, where you need to walk on the dining room chairs because the floor is lava?"

He nods. "Well, that's me," William says. "I'm the lava."

It makes sense, in retrospect. He'd sort of thought that William's aloofness was protection against the rest of them; it hadn't occurred to him that William might have been trying to protect everyone else, instead.

"I know I should have said something," William says. "I just – it's embarrassing. And I fucked up your comic books. I really wanted to help."

"Another time?" Travis says.

"Yeah, okay."

He says, because he feels like he has to, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"Don't blame yourself for my OCD," William says. "Ask Gabe to tell you how many times I started hyperventilating because he got touchy with me. The man is an inveterate poker."

"Yeah," Travis says. "You sure you don't want me to get someone?"

William shakes his head. "I'm supposed to be getting better. My therapist comes in all the time to do exposures with me. I can't afford for her to think that I'm backsliding. I'll never get out of here."

"Okay," Travis says. If he sounds unsure, William doesn't say anything about it.

*****

He gets a call from Pops asking if he can come up for visiting day. It's the first time he's talked to his father since he was admitted. He knows he's got an obligation to act like a good son, especially considering where he is, so he says okay. Pops asks if he needs anything and he tells him no.

When he sees Dr. Ok that afternoon, he asks if Travis is worried about having a conversation about what happened. Which is a damn joke, because if he knows his father the only way they'll ever talk about what happened is if they both get shit-faced drunk and Travis initiates the conversation, which he won't and which is exactly how it should be. He doesn't think Dr. Ok will understand that, though, so he just says no.

William is freaking out, quietly. He spends the evening before visiting day chewing on his fingernails and straightening things that don't need to be straightened. In group he'd said that his rituals sometimes came back at weird times, usually when they were absolutely unneeded.

Out of all of them, Gabe is the only one who seems to be all right with the idea of visiting day. He's been on the phone for half an hour reading from his list of things that he wants his housemate to bring to the hospital. Occasionally he picks his head up and demands to know what Travis and William want.

"I want a cheesesteak," William says finally.

"Oh, fuck off. I'm not having my friend drive ninety minutes so you can eat a poor murdered cow. Yo," he says into the phone receiver, "you know what else I need? Pita chips. The cinnamon and sugar ones. Yeah, those." He spends another ten minutes throwing out alternate products and generally being bossy, and then he hangs up and looks around the room, smiling brightly.

On visiting day, Travis is coming back from the common room when he meets Gabe's housemate. Pops isn't coming for another forty minutes and he was hoping he could either watch TV or read until he got there. That doesn't happen.

"Travie, this is Pete," Gabe tells him. "He brought me a whole bunch of shit."

Gabe's housemate is tiny. He looks Travis up and down and smiles. He starts to stick his hand out, but then pulls it back.

Gabe nudges him. "Pete, this is _Travis_. William's my other roommate."

"Ohhh," Pete says, and puts his hand out for Travis to shake. "I'm still keeping track of who's who. Hey. Wow, dude, you're tall."

"No, you're just short," Gabe says.

"Oh, right."

"Is your dad here yet?" Gabe asks. "I can put aside some crackers or something if you want anything to eat."

"Not yet," Travis says. The orderlies start coming around with meds.

"We're blocking traffic here," Gabe says. "Pete, wanna see the art therapy room?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Pete says. "It was nice to meet you, Travis." Travis smiles and nods.

Pops shows up eventually and they go for a walk in the enclosed garden at the back of the hospital (Travis' grounds privileges are limited, but at least they're not stuck staring at each other in the common room). On the way there they pass William and two people who Travis thinks are William's mother and stepfather. His mother is smiling determinedly and his stepfather looks concerned. William is standing apart from them. Travis waves and William waves back, but they don't stop to chat.

Pops tells him about work and his latest girlfriend and they very deliberately avoid the subject of what happened. The only time they come close is when Pops asks, "Has your mother been up to see you?"

"She's not going to come," Travis says. "It's not her kind of place."

Pops considers that very carefully before he says, "I guess not. She's…not doing so great," which probably means that she's drinking again, and it's not what Travis wants to hear but he can't do anything about it.

At the end of the visit Pops says, "Well, tell me if you need anything," and for a second it feels like something important is going to happen, but then it passes. So Travis says goodbye and then he goes back to the room and stuffs his face into his pillow.

He spends some time lying there by himself. Eventually William comes back into the room and stuffs his own face into his own pillow. Travis doesn't say anything for a while.

"Not great?" he asks finally.

"No," William says. "It was okay until they were going to leave and my mom started crying. My stepdad got mad at me because Mom was crying, so she got mad at him because he was mad at me, and then I thought it was best that I leave."

"Shit," Travis says.

"I agree."

They spend a little time staring at the walls until Gabe gets back from distributing his food all over the ward, takes one look at both of them and says, "So, visiting day sucked?"

"Yeah," William and Travis say.

"Shit," Gabe says.

*****

"I think they're going to let me out of here soon," Gabe tells him when they're playing poker in the common room. Gabe's better at cards than he is but it's not like they're playing with actual money.

"That's cool," Travis says. "Have they told you when?"

Gabe shakes his head. "My shrink's been talking about setting up an aftercare program lately, which means I'm not going to be here much longer. Plus I think I'm better. Do you think I'm better?"

"You haven't been as much of a jackass in group."

"Oh, come on, I wasn't that bad."

"You're lucky you didn't wind up getting thrown into isolation."

"Nah, they wouldn't have done that," Gabe says. "I get even more obnoxious when I'm by myself. "

"Damn."

"You wouldn't believe it, but it's true. Have they talked to you about you getting out?"

Dr. Ok had asked how he wanted to spend his time once he got released. Travis has a feeling that his insurance is probably making noise about how much time he's spent in here. "A little."

"Got any plans?"

"Don't know," Travis says. "I never thought about the future much. Waking up in the morning and thinking _this shit again_ was as far as I got. Hard to start over from that."

Gabe gives him a look, which probably means that he was listening. Gabe listens a lot more now that they've got his meds stabilized. He nudges Travis' foot with his and says, "I raise."

*****

The art therapy room is the one Travis is most comfortable in. There's an orderly by the door and someone who he thinks is a psychiatric intern who makes the rounds of the room every now and again. The intern, whose name is Carmen, seems to have gotten the message that he works better when he's allowed to just fuck around, so she wanders over and looks over his shoulder sometimes and then goes away while Travis draws his half-assed comic book.

William likes to hang out in the art therapy room too, and they sit at the same table together while Travis draws and William does whatever strikes his fancy that day. Lately he's been smacking around the plasticky clay that's stored at the back of the room.

"At least it's not just fucking around with Photoshop," he tells William, when he's contemplating the perspective on his stairway and William's taking a break from punching his clay into some sort of shape. "I had to do that for work."

William rests his elbow in the crook of his arm and squints at Travis' comic. "I wish I could draw," he says. "It'd be easier than having to deal with words."

"I couldn't deal with art for a while," Travis says. "I got all this shit in my apartment that I started and never finished."

"What happened?"

Travis shrugs. "I was taking a lot of shit. I was fucking up at work and in general. Hard to make time for personal creativity."

"Well, that's too bad," William says. "I like your little guy there." He points at the panel.

"I don't know what he's doing yet."

"I don't know what _I'm_ doing," William says, and slaps his clay into a shapeless lump. "This sucks."

"Make a bust of me," Travis says.

"Oh, sure," William says. "I'll just whip that right up." He slumps back in his chair.

"I bet you could," Travis says. "Big head, long neck. That's a start." He leans over and squishes the clay into an approximation of a skull. "Looks like me already. I'll let you do the rest."

William wrinkles his nose at him, but he looks amused nonetheless. "Narcissist. You want me to spend my time _admiring your beauty_ instead of improving myself?"

"Why not?" Travis says. "It's just going to go to waste otherwise."

*****

He gets a call from Matt. He's not expecting it. The last time they spoke in person was sometime before Travis was admitted, and it probably had something to do with what to get for lunch. Matt sounds wary on the phone but he says, "I can bring the dog over to see you," and Travis says fine and tells him to ask the switchboard operator where to get directions.

Travis spends twenty minutes pacing the room on the day Matt's meant to come by. Finally Gabe says, "Come play poker with me before I have to go sort out my fuckin' aftercare program," and drags him into the common room and gives him a deck of cards.

"So what do you think's going to happen?" Gabe asks him.

"I guess I'll see my dog again," Travis says. "Matt's been looking after him for me."

"That's cool."

"You know he's the one who called the ambulance on me."

Gabe blinks. "Wow."

"I know."

"At least you get to see your puppy," Gabe says. "That'll be good."

"I don't even know how long I've been here. We'll see if Stitch even remembers me."

"For a while Pete thought he was going to have his kid today," Gabe says. "Luckily he switched things around with his ex and Bronx went to the movies or something with her. He's a little too young to be hanging around a hospital."

"I didn't know your housemate had a kid."

"Yeah, he doesn't look like the type, right? Pete's got joint custody with his ex, so I get to hang out with the munchkin a lot. It's awesome. It's the closest I'll get to having a kid of my own."

"Yeah?" Travis says. "You'd probably be a good dad."

"I'd be an awesome dad if they ever find the magic cure for bipolar," Gabe says.

Travis looks up from his cards. Gabe's smiling but it looks forced around the corners. "There must be a lot of people who have the same thing and manage to have kids, Gabe."

"It's something I had to think about," Gabe says. "I can't see it working for me. How much would it suck to pass my fucked up brain along to my kids? Even if they luck out on that, what kind of childhood is it when every so often Dad needs to go into the hospital because he's a maniac who tries to jump off buildings? Bipolar fucked me up enough, I don't want it to fuck a kid's life up too." Gabe waves at someone over Travis' head.

Travis doesn't think he can just leave it. "But you don't know that'll happen."

"I don't," Gabe says. "It'd be a lot fucking easier if I did." He puts his cards down and gets up from the table, and disappears from the room.

Matt shows up looking thinner but scruffily familiar. Travis stands and waits for him to make the first move; Matt shuffles a little, deciding whether to offer a handshake or not, and finally gives him a hug.

"You look good," Matt says. "I've got the dog outside."

"Sounds okay," Travis says. He tells the nurse on duty that he's going outside and they'll be back later.

Travis waits for Matt in the garden. The sky is gray and the grass needs to be watered, but it's fresh air, at least.

He doesn't expect Stitch to even remember him, but when Matt reappears with the dog – looking like a fuzzy white barrel with legs – and gets close enough, Stitch yanks the leash out of his hand and charges at Travis, barking frantically. He puts his paws on Travis' knees and thumps him with his head.

"Stitchy," Travis says and Stitch wags his tail and whimpers.

"He really missed you," Matt says as Travis pulls Stitch into his lap. Stitch licks his neck.

"He's gotten huge," Travis says. "What are you feeding him, cats?"

"You'd think so," Matt says. "He sleeps in Zooey's room at night."

"Guard dog."

"Yeah," Matt says. He presses his elbows back against the bench. "I was really pissed, Trav."

He knew this was going to happen. Maybe he thought that it needed to happen. "Because of what I did?"

"Kind of. I didn't know how bad it'd gotten until I called the ambulance."

"It was because I texted you, right? I thought I did something."

"Well, fucking duh. You love that dog like he's your baby, and then you're sending me messages to come pick him up without a whole list of instructions on what to do?"

"Thought that might have been it."

"I thought about coming here like every day," Matt says. "Just didn't trust myself to."

He isn't sure what Matt wants. "You know I couldn't even think about what was happening to me while it was going on," Travis says. "I couldn't think about it. I couldn't talk about it. I don't know if you want me to apologize for being depressed or what."

"I don't want you to _apologize_ ," Matt says. "I just want to know why you couldn't tell me you were thinking about killing yourself. Maybe I should have asked, I knew something was going on. Maybe I should apologize for not asking."

"I just couldn't talk about it," Travis says. "It's not your fault, I just didn't have any words in me. I don't know if that's what you want to hear."

Matt shrugs.

"I know you're pissed."

"This isn't the way I wanted things to go," Matt says. "I just – I wanted to know you were still alive. Because I was thinking about my kid, you know, and how she's going to get older, and I didn't want her to be nine years old and asking me about who the guy in my photographs was, and for me to tell her about my best friend Travis and how he's not around anymore. Because I failed him."

He feels something cold and heavy at the pit of his stomach. "You know my dad told me that if you hadn't called the ambulance, I'd either be dead or a vegetable right now. So you didn't fail."

"I just wish I knew it before," Matt says. "Maybe I could have helped."

"Well, we don't know," Travis says. "I don't know how it got so bad myself. I didn't set out to keep anything from you. You're the oldest friend I've got and I never wanted this."

"Yeah," Matt says. "Yeah, I know."

Matt eventually has to leave. He walks Travis back to the ward and says, "I can try to bring the dog back again."

"Yeah," Travis says. "We've got a phone in the room. I can give you a call later, if that's cool?"

Matt nods. He gives Travis a hug and then the nurse comes and lets him back on the ward. Travis walks back to the room, nods at William, sits down and begins to cry.

It's not what he expected to happen, and the shock makes it practically impossible to stop once he starts. William says, sounding panicky, "Travis? What happened?"

He tries to answer, but it comes out in a wail. He drops his chin to his knees. William says, "Did your friend do something and upset you?"

He takes a breath. Once he's reasonably sure he can answer, he opens his mouth, but what comes out doesn't really make sense even to him. It's all mixed up together, Matt and Isaiah and his family and how he's just realized how much he's fucked up his life. William stands over him, making soothing noises and wringing his hands, and then Gabe wanders in.

"Dude," Gabe says.

"Trav's sad," William says. "I can't – Gabe, please."

"I got it," Gabe says; he sits down on the bed and pulls Travis close. He strokes Travis' hair and talks quietly to him while Travis presses his face into his shoulder. "Everything just hit you all at once, huh?"

Travis nods. Gabe's shoulder is a mess but he doesn't seem to be complaining. Gabe says, "It happens to all of us. You want someone to go get the nurse?"

"I can get the nurse," William says. "I can do that."

Travis shakes his head. Gabe says, "Okay, if you want. This is just like puking. You get it all out of your system and it sucks for a little while and then you feel better."

Gabe has horrible metaphors. Travis would say that if he were more together, but he's just started being able to catch his breath.

Gabe waits until Travis calms down to let him go and stand up. Travis swipes his nose against his shirtsleeve. William is watching them, chewing on his fingernails.

"I don't know how the fuck this happened to me," Travis says.

"Join the club," Gabe says. "Billvy, are there any tissues or anything around? He's a mess."

*****

The insurance company wants Travis out of the hospital. Dr. Ok lets him know about it when he goes down for the session. Travis says, "So when can I expect to get out of here?"

Dr. Ok says, "I think before we talk about when you're being released, we should discuss what you're going to do afterwards. Based on what we've talked about, I don't think you want to go back to how you were living before."

Travis shakes his head.

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because it made me fuck my life up and wind up in here?" Travis says.

"That's a pretty good reason. The insurance would pay for two weeks of an aftercare program, but you should really start looking for a therapist. Someone to help out with the depression and anxiety."

"I don't know where to look for that," Travis says.

"I can give you some names. We've got a couple of people we've worked with before, but in the event things don't work out, give me a call. You think you can make the phone call and set up an appointment once you're out of here?"

"Have to give it a shot, I guess," Travis says. "I just don't want things to get as bad as they did."

*****

Gabe gets released in the afternoon. He gathers up what clothes he has and says to William, "Yo, I'm going to be calling up and checking on you, so don't do anything crazy just because I'm not around."

"I'll do my best," William says. He waves goodbye. Gabe waves back.

"Travie, I need you to walk my ass to the door because I have shit to tell you," Gabe says.

"You got instructions for me?"

"What else?" Gabe says, and walks out the door, telling the passing orderly, "Hey, I'm leaving today!"

While they're waiting for the orderly to open the door to the ward, Gabe says, "I meant it about calling you guys. We went through this whole fucked up thing together. I figure I can't just walk away. No bullshit."

Maybe Gabe's just being nice or maybe he means it. Travis isn't sure. "Tell us what the outside world's like."

"Hey, I didn't want to say this in there, but – you think you can watch out for Billvy? Just so he knows someone's got his back. He's not as strong as you are."

"I think I can do that," Travis says.

"See you, brother," Gabe says and gives him a hug. Travis really, really wants to believe it's not going to be the last time.

Gabe waves at him through the door and then he's gone. Travis heads back to the room. He drops onto his bed and says to William, "I hate saying goodbye."

"Yeah," William says, picking at his bedspread. "I guess you'll be next, huh?"

"I don't know about next," Travis says. "My insurance isn't too happy about me being here."

William snorts. "Do they even know what kind of shit you've been through?"

Travis shrugs. "So Gabe said just before he left that we should look out for each other now that he's not here anymore."

"Really? Actually, that sounds like something he would do. Gabe can't decide if he's everyone's dad or everyone's mother."

"Yeah, he's like that. I don't know. You look out for me, I'll look out for you, okay?"

William considers and then grins. "Okay."

*****

Travis figures that if he's going to be released, he should find out just how wrecked his apartment is, so the next time he talks to Matt, he offers to repaint Zooey's room in exchange for Matt going over and dealing with the really gross stuff. Matt knows a good thing when he hears it, so he says he'll go over on his day off.

Travis gets a call when he and William get back from group. He picks up the phone and says, "Hey," and Matt says, "There's a problem."

Travis sits down on the floor by the phone. "What is it?"

"I went over to your place today to clean it up and the locks had been changed."

"What?"

"I talked to the management. They said that because the rent was unpaid and the apartment was vacant they had to put it on the market."

"Fuck," Travis says. He knew something was going to come around and bite him in the ass. " _Fuck_."

"They didn't throw out any of your stuff, at least," Matt says. "I went into storage and brought a bunch of shit back with me. I guess they figured you'd sue them if they threw out your property."

"Fuck," Travis repeats. William looks up from his journal and then very deliberately looks back down, like he's not paying attention. "Did they say if there was any way to get back in? I can cut a check."

"I guess someone's already moved in."

"Goddamn," Travis says. "Well, did they at least tell the new tenants that someone tried to kill themselves in that apartment?"

"I think they probably soft-pedaled that part."

"I hate those assholes," Travis says. "They've _always_ been shady. I swear the walls were full of asbestos. Oh, Jesus –" Because the thought's just occurred to him, and it's making his throat close up – "They didn't throw out any of my shit, did they? I had canvases in there, Matty, I wanted to work on –"

"Hey, hey," Matt says. "It's all right. I said they didn't throw it out. I went down and got as much as I could out of storage. It's in our living room until I figure out where the hell else I can put it."

"Okay," Travis says. "That was all I cared about. Shit. I guess I should look for a new place for me and Stitchy, huh?"

"Maybe you can sleep on the couch for a few days after you get out," Matt says.

"Your place has barely enough room for you guys. I bet it's crowded just having Stitch there."

Matt doesn't say anything. Travis says, "My point exactly. Look, don't worry about it. My Pops is between marriages right now, I can always go stay with him for a little bit. I'll figure it out."

"I'll go get the rest of your stuff," Matt says. "We'll keep it safe."

"Okay," Travis says. "I meant what I said about the paint job. Just let me get myself together."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"You got it," Travis says and hangs up. He bangs his head into the closest mattress. William has been trying and failing to make a graceful exit for the last two minutes. Finally he gives up and says, "Trav?"

"My landlord is a fuckin' dick," Travis says.

"I heard," William says. "I'm sorry. Can they even do that? They can't, can they?"

"I don't know. I guess I wasn't real up to date with my rent," Travis says. "I hated that apartment anyway."

"Do you _have_ to stay with your dad?" William says. "He lives in Geneva, right? How are you going to get to work?"

Travis shrugs. "Commute?"

"I wish you could go stay at my place," William says. "The couch pulls out."

"I don't think your parents would exactly welcome my ass in," Travis says.

"Fuck," William says. "Fuck, Trav. I don't want – hey, why don't you talk to Gabe about it next time he calls?"

"Gabe?"

"Yeah. He's got a cousin or something who's a realtor. Gabe knows everybody."

Travis considers. He's not really in a position to turn down opportunities right now. "You think he'd mind?"

"Travis, this is Gabe we're talking about. His whole thing is wanting to help."

*****

Travis comes back from his session from Dr. Ok to find William on the phone. He says, "Uh-huh – yeah, I will – I did already – he just walked in – Gabe, he just walked in." He rolls his eyes at Travis and says, "Gabe!" Then he smiles and puts the receiver down so Travis can grab it.

Travis waits until William's a safe distance away before he goes for the receiver. He says, "'Hey." He's not entirely sure what he's going to say. He doesn't think he wants to lead with, "I don't want to be homeless."

"So Will tells me your landlord fucked you over," Gabe says.

Travis mouths _thank you_ at William. "Yeah. I was wondering if you knew anyone who –"

"Hang on," Gabe says, and then the rest is muffled. "Pete? Hey, can my friend come stay with us when he gets out? You met him in the hospital. Travie. Okay, cool." Gabe comes back on. "Well, you can stay here, unless you want to be a total idiot and say no."

"Dude," Travis says. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Gabe says. "What else are you going to do, take the puppy and go stay with your dad until he decides to get married again? Just let me know when you're being released, we'll get you set up. There's a nice big bedroom on the second floor you can sleep in."

"This is awesome."

"I know, right? I'll get the directions together and email you. And bring a fruit basket, I like those." Gabe hangs up. Travis turns to William, grinning.

"Get institutionalized, wind up with a housemate," William says.

"Little-known perk," Travis says.

*****

The hospital sets Travis' release date for Thursday morning. They're trying to get him into the aftercare program, and he has a few names of therapists in the city that he's promised to call. He's spoken to his manager at work; they're going to discuss his new hours on Monday. The idea of being out of the hospital is kind of scary but he still doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in one.

William comes back from his session with his therapist looking shakily determined. His eyes are swollen. Travis says, "What's the matter?"

William makes a couple false starts, maybe because he's trying not to stutter. Finally he says, "I can't do normal friend stuff."

"What?"

"Everyone else I know can give each other high fives when Cutler scores a touchdown, or pat each other on the shoulder, or shake hands, or something. I can't even give my mom a hug on her birthday."

"Bill," Travis says cautiously, because William's too wound up to make a lot of sense, but William just flaps his hands and plows ahead.

"I used to wear gloves all the time. They took them away when I was admitted. It was probably good because they'd basically stopped working for me. My therapist tells me the only way to get past this thing is if I actually go through with it, but I – I'd rather be a bad friend for the right reason than try to be a good friend and be wrong."

It dawns on him slowly. "This is about the OCD?"

William nods. "I know you're going to leave, and I might not see you again, so I don't want you to get out of here thinking that I _didn't_ want to do shit like shake hands or try to help when you were upset. I mean, there were a bunch of times that I really wanted to, you know, but –"

"I'm not going to leave thinking you were a shitty friend," Travis says. "I wasn't all that fun to be around when I first got here, so I'd pretty much be an asshole if I turned that around on everyone else. And I don't want to get out and never see you again."

"I don't know," William says. "Maybe you'll try. Maybe I'll fuck it up. I had a lot of trouble just going out of the house before. A lot of my friends stopped calling me."

"William – if you want me to tell you what's going to happen, I can't do it. I don't even know."

"I know," William says. "I just wanted you to know – I wanted to sit down and read next to you a lot of the time, or watch TV, or just let you put an arm around me sometimes, but."

"Yeah. It'd freak you out."

"I put that on the list, you know. Things to do in the future. I've been working my way up."

"Yeah. It's hard for you."

"My therapist says it's on the exposure list. Something to do to help me deal."

Travis feels like an idiot. There's a request somewhere beneath everything else, William asking him for help, and he's not sure if William even wants what he's asking for. "Do you want me to sit and put an arm around you? Before I get out?"

William lets out a shaky breath. He nods.

"I don't want to do it if it's going to freak you out."

"The point is that I freak out, I guess. That's what she tells me. Stop giving the OCD power. It's been fucking my whole life up."

"You think it'd be better if your therapist was here? Make it easier?"

William shakes his head. "I've already been putting this off. Maybe I can stop thinking about it if I get it over with."

"Okay," Travis says. "But if you start feeling like you can't handle it, I'll stop. I'm not looking to get the staff in here with a bunch of sedatives."

"I can handle it," William says, biting his nails. "Just go slowly, all right?"

"Where should I sit?"

William considers for a minute and then points at Gabe's old bed. Travis gets up and slides across the mattress, feet sticking straight out in front of him.

"You have to promise," William says shrilly, "that if you start feeling weird, anything at all, you stop touching me. I don't want anything –"

"I figure we're in a hospital," Travis says. "If anything happens I'll call the nurse in here."

William nods. His hands are shaking.

"You got this," Travis says. "I'll stay here as long as you need me to."

William doesn't say anything. His eyes are wide and panicky but he lets his breath out and sits next to Travis on the bed. Travis carefully lets his arm rest around William's shoulders.

William's breathing picks up immediately and Travis forces himself not to move. He's not entirely sure what the best plan is, since the only thing he's got is to pretend that this whole thing is totally natural and a little boring, sitting with his arm lying dead fish limp around William. He stares straight ahead and hopes that William doesn't pass out on him.

"It's silly," William says, shuddering and trying to breathe. "It's a dumb thing to be afraid of, really, it doesn't make sense –"

"Uh-huh," Travis says, looking at the door. Checks are in fifteen minutes. "We'll just go until you believe what you're saying. You're doing good so far."

He counts one Mississippi, two Mississippi off in his head. William gets to a point where Travis is sure he's either going to puke or faint, and then he suddenly starts breathing easier. He's still shaky and there's a sheen of sweat on his neck, but Travis can feel the fear passing through.

"Okay," William says. "Okay, that's enough."

Travis takes his arm away. William drops against the wall, looking exhausted.

"Look at you," Travis says. "You did it. And I'm still here."

"Yeah," William says. "Yeah, I guess."

"Yeah, you guess. That was the boogeyman under the bed, and you just whacked him with a chair," Travis says. "And you did this for me. That's fuckin' awesome."

It takes a second for it to sink in, but William smiles. "Yeah. I did. I mean, it was for me, too."

"This is what I'll walk out remembering," Travis says.

William doesn't say anything for a while. Finally he says, softly, "Thanks."

*****

They come to a mutual agreement that they'll keep it casual when Travis gets released; Travis thinks it's because William doesn't want the reminder that he's going to be on his own for a little while, which he's happy with going along with. On Thursday morning William makes himself scarce while Travis packs up his stuff, and Travis leaves a note with his cell number on William's bed. Just before he walks out, he goes to the common room, where he thinks William's hanging out, waves to the room at large, and then leaves.

Matt comes and gets him; Pops thought he was going to be able to come, but he got called into work at the last minute. Travis signs himself out and walks into the sunshine while Matt brings the car around. The sun is out and the sky is wide and blue, and Travis says, "Hey, world."

The backseat of the car is full of the basic moving essentials: his art supplies and some of his canvases, his clothes, the dog's stuff and then Stitch, who's asleep on a pile of linens. Matt says, "We can move the rest in over the weekend, you don't have much stuff."

"Thanks for doing this," Travis says. Matt just hands him the directions to Gabe's place that he printed out from Mapquest.

"If you're not sure this is what you want to do, we can work something out," Matt says. "Our place isn't that small."

"It's pretty small."

"I just don't want you to get into a bad situation," Matt says. "I know you can handle yourself, but –"

"You don't know that moving in with a guy I met in the loony bin is a great idea?"

"Well, I wouldn't phrase it like that."

"I'll see what happens," Travis says. "If I need help, I'll call you. That's a promise."

"I'm holding you to that."

"Wouldn't expect anything different."

Gabe and Pete's house is large, and it's closer to the office than Travis' old apartment, which is a plus. Matt lets the car idle while Travis goes to ring the bell, Stitch following close to him.

Pete answers the door. "Travis, right? Welcome to the neighborhood. Gabe's in the living room with my kid, I'll show you in. You've got a bulldog, too? Hemingway's going to be psyched. Where's your stuff?"

"Out in the car," Travis says. He turns and waves at Matt. Matt turns the car off.

Pete shows him into the living room. Gabe is sitting on the floor wrestling with a blond kid who looks just like Pete. Gabe waves and says, "Travie! I'd get up, but there's a rugrat on me right now."

"You already know Gabe, unfortunately. And this is my son," Pete says. "Bronx, say hello. Travis is staying upstairs, remember?"

The kid looks up but doesn't let go of Gabe. He gives Travis the up and down before waving hello. Then he says, "You have a dog."

"That's right," Travis says. "His name's Stitch. Like in the movie?"

Bronx doesn't seem terribly interested in pursuing that conversation. "I have a dog too," he tells Travis. "Does your dog like other dogs?"

"I think so," Travis says.

"We'll see how the Commander In Chief deals," Pete says.

"He's got a buddy now. It'll be awesome," Gabe says. "Where's your stuff, Travie?"

"Outside."

"Lemme help you get it," Gabe says, but Bronx grabs onto his shirt and says, "You stay here."

Gabe looks helplessly at Pete. Pete says, "It's cool. Point me at the car."

Pete and Matt get acquainted while they move boxes into the front hall. Pete says, "I can show you the room, Trav. Matt, you want to grab a drink or something? Gabe knows where everything is."

Travis knows Matt well enough to know when his mind's at ease. He seems to have decided that Pete and Gabe aren't likely to kill Travis in his sleep. He says, "Okay," and goes off to the living room.

Pete shows him the room. "It's pretty bare right now, because neither of us knew what the fuck to do with it. So, you think Matt's cool with you staying here yet?"

He hadn't expected Pete to pick up on that. "He's a little worried. Doesn't know why you're opening your house up like this."

"He's being a good friend."

"Yeah," Travis says. "He's good like that. Why are you opening your house up? Considering?"

Pete shrugs. He puts a box of brushes down on the dresser. "I've known Gabe for a long time. He's worked with me. He's taken care of my kid. When he's not in an episode, I trust his judgment. If he says you need somewhere to stay, I'm not going to argue."

"I just don't want to disappoint anyone."

"We'll keep it casual for now," Pete says. "If you decide you want to leave, or if we decide you need to leave, that's it. If things work out, we'll talk about leases and shit. That sound good?"

He nods. Pete smiles. "Also, I hope you brought your own sheets, because otherwise you're stuck with ours, and they all have Nemo characters on them."

They manage to get all the stuff stored away. Pete offers Matt Chinese takeout but he's got to get back to his family. He hugs Travis goodbye and tells him he'll bring the rest of his stuff in the morning.

Pete has a massive brown and white bulldog named Hemingway, and he and Stitch circle and sniff each other for about ten minutes until they both abruptly decide everything is fine. Then they crash around the house together until Pete lets them out into the backyard to bark at things.

Pete takes Bronx to bed at seven. Gabe pokes at the remnants of his Szechuan eggplant and says, "I think my being in the hospital weirded Bronx out. He's been clingy like a monkey ever since I came home. How's the room? Good?"

"It's good," Travis says. "I don't think I said that I appreciate you guys letting me stay here."

Gabe waves a hand dismissively. "Did the hospital give you any numbers you could call? Therapists' numbers?"

"David Ok gave me some names. I'm going to call them tomorrow."

"Awesome."

"Hopefully. Therapy scares the shit out of me."

Gabe considers for a minute. "You know when you said in group how bad things had gotten for you just before you went into the hospital?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, I know what it's like to be so fucked up that you just stop caring. I've _done_ that. It sucks. I don't want you to have to go through that shit again."

"I don't want to go through it again either."

"Here's the offer," Gabe says. "You keep me straight, I'll keep you straight."

"I don't know how that's going to work, Gabe."

"It means if I start talking about what a pain in the ass my meds are or how God needs me to be His prophet or some shit, you call my shrink and say, 'Yo, Gabe's fucking up.' And if you start hanging out by yourself popping pills all the time, I go in and kick your ass until you call your therapist. When you have a therapist, anyway."

"I'm going to be popping pills anyway, Gabe. Just not the fun ones."

"You know what I mean. I give pretty awesome advice, you know. Maybe if you just wanted someone to talk to, you could talk to me? Or maybe - You don't know Pete really well yet, but he's pretty nonjudgmental. He let me live here, didn't he?"

"Free therapy."

"Not really. I'm not down with the whole authority thing. But maybe you'd like someone around who knows a little of what you're going through?"

"Yeah," Travis says. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

Gabe smiles. "Cool."

"It'd be like old times," Travis says. "I just wish William was here."

"About that."

"What?"

"I'm thinking – this house is huge, you know. I need to talk to Pete, and then we'll see what Billvy wants to do, but I was thinking we could offer him a room too."

Travis' immediate impulse is to agree, but then he thinks it might be better to be cautious. "Would that work?"

"I can't see it being any worse than where he's living now. God bless his parents, but I don't think they have a clue how to deal with him. I'm just worried that he'll get out and be right back where he started. He almost died last time. He deserves a chance to get better."

"I'd like to have him around," Travis says. "If he wants."

"I'm gonna talk to Pete and if it's all good, I'll ask Will when I call him tomorrow. You want in on that?"

"I don't want him to feel pressured."

"No pressure, dude. He might feel better if he knows we're in agreement though."

"Okay," Travis says.

"Awesome," Gabe says, and leaves it at that.

*****

Matt comes in the morning with the rest of his stuff, which is mainly canvases and books. It reminds him of how little of his old place was actually his. They put everything away, he gives Matt a drink and they set up a time for him to fix up Zooey's room, and then Travis figures he needs to start calling therapists.

He doesn't get good cell phone reception in his room, so he has to roam the house until he manages to get a signal in the living room. He feels like an asshole showing everyone his business, but he also doesn't have a choice.

He has to give his history about three times to three separate people. Pete passes by with Bronx in the middle of the second time, but they disappear into the kitchen and thankfully don't pay any attention to him; occasionally he hears Bronx talking and Pete clattering pots and pans around.

He sets up some appointments, spaced out so he doesn't have to go through them all at once. When he finally gets off the phone it feels like his shoulders are going into spasm. He puts the phone on the table and thunks his head against the back of the couch.

The clattering in the kitchen stops, and he hears Pete say something to Bronx. The kitchen door opens and close and then the clattering starts up again.

"Hello," someone says. Travis looks up and Bronx is looking solemnly at him over the arm of the couch.

"Hey," Travis says.

"I have a question," Bronx says. He points at a cardboard box that says Tummy Ache lying by the TV. "Will you play this with me?"

All things considered, playing board games with a three year old seems a lot better than talking about his hospital stay again. "Okay," Travis says. "But you'll have to teach me."

"I'm a good player," Bronx assures him, and goes to get the game. He winds up winning it but Travis suspects that he's cheating.

Gabe comes home just after Pete goes to drop Bronx back off at his mother's. Travis is watching TV with the dogs, but he turns it off and says, "You talk to Pete?"

"Duh," Gabe says cheerfully. He slings his messenger bag in the corner. "It's okay. I'm going to call Billvy now."

"Okay," Travis says, and watches Gabe dig out his phone.

Gabe sits beside Travis and lets Hemingway sniff his sneakers while the phone rings. Finally he says, "Hey. What's going on? He just got here the other day. He's sitting beside me. Want to talk to him? Hang on." He passes the phone over. Travis takes it and says, "Hi."

"Hi," William says. "Gabe says you moved in."

"I've got all my shit upstairs," Travis says. "This place is huge."

"How's it going so far?"

"I played board games with Pete's kid today and there's a dog drooling on me," Travis says. "It's awesome. How are you?"

William considers for a minute. "Solitary. The room seems really big now."

"Damn. Can you hang out in the common room?"

"As much as I can. It's nice to hear from you guys, though."

Gabe starts making hand motions at him. Travis says, "It's good to hear you too. Gabe wants to say something again."

"I don't doubt it," William says.

"Hang on," Travis says, and passes the phone back. Gabe takes it and says, "Hey, before you go, we were thinking. You want to consider taking a room in here when you get out? I talked to my other housemate about it, it's cool. Fuck you, I'm dead serious about it. There are like five thousand rooms in this house. It'll be you, me, Travie, Pete, and the dogs. And Bronx sometimes. Pete's kid. I know that, but I'm just saying it's an idea. Because we want you here, dumbass. Travie told me he wants it too." He listens and then says to Travis, "He wants to talk to you."

Travis takes the phone. William says, "So is this a serious thing, or has Gabe gone off his meds already?"

"I don't know," Travis says. "What do you think? I think it'd be nice having you here."

"Yeah, it'd be nice, but…Trav, I already have a place. And I'm kind of hard to live with."

"Well, so am I. And you know Gabe is."

"Gabe is what?" Gabe asks. Travis waves a hand to shush him.

"I just don't want you to offer because you feel obligated."

"Obligated to what?" Travis says. "This is what I'm doing. I'm trying to find somewhere that I can go to work and find a therapist and do art and try to have a life, which I didn't really have before. You're someone I care about and I'd feel good if you had the same thing."

William says nothing for a long time. Then he says, "Let me talk to Gabe again."

Travis passes the phone back to Gabe. Gabe says, "Hey – If you start fucking up, Billvy, we'd both be on your ass so quick you wouldn't know what happened. Think of it as like a practice living arrangement, okay? If it doesn't work, you can just walk away and nobody would think any less of you. I don't know if you noticed, but Travie and I are pretty fucked up too, you know? I think we all deserve to try to be less fucked up together. Yeah, give yourself some time. Let us know what you decide. Okay. Really? I promise we won't be upset if you say no. Travie –" He holds out the receiver.

"Promise we won't be upset," Travis says at the phone. Gabe takes it back.

"Take as long as you need to. We'll leave it open. Okay. Travie, Bill says bye."

"Bye," Travis says.

"Talk to you later, brother," Gabe says. "Yeah. Usual time." He hangs up. "I think he sort of wants to say yes. We'll see."

"Yeah," Travis says. Gabe scootches closer and Travis hands him the television remote.

*****

Travis' new therapist is named Monica; her office turns out to be within walking distance of the house. One of Travis' worries going into therapy was that they would take one look at him and see a big tattooed black guy instead of a patient, but Monica seemed cool with him, and she immediately starts looking for a psychiatrist to monitor his medications while she deals with the behavioral stuff. It's different from what he's used to, but he's trying his best to deal with it. People at work are still treating him with kid gloves, but at least he hasn't been fired.

William makes the decision to talk to his parents and see about moving into the house. They all agree there have to be some sort of rules in place to keep everyone relatively stable; there are a lot of conference calls with Travis and Pete and Gabe and William while they're getting everything set up. The conference calls have a tendency to sidetrack into what kung fu B-movie constitutes essential viewing, but they still manage to get some preliminaries written down.

Pete makes sure that Bronx is with his mother the day William moves in; Bronx isn't really a touchy kid, but better safe than sorry. Travis and Gabe clear out the room on the third floor for William and then order Mexican food.

William arrives with his stepfather to start moving in; Gabe turns on the charm as soon as they walk in the door, maybe because he's trying to set William's stepfather's mind at ease. William's hair has been cut short and he looks very young.

When William meets Pete, he takes a deep breath and then sticks out his hand for Pete to shake. Travis can see the fear behind his smile, and for a second he thinks Pete won't do it, but he just says, "Good to see you, Bill," shaking his hand quickly and then going on to talk about something else. William's shoulders relax and he grins at Travis; Travis grins back proudly.

*****

On Tuesdays, they make dinner together. Sometimes Bronx is there. Sometimes someone has to bang on Pete's door to remind him to stop work and come downstairs, and sometimes Gabe is late coming back from his psychiatrist appointment, but they always manage to make it work.

Tonight's dinner is pasta. It's usually pasta, because that's a compromise the vegetarians and the carnivores can agree on. Travis has the marinara simmering on the stove, and Gabe is chopping cucumbers for the salad (which is as close as Gabe ever gets to cooking) while Bronx pulls apart the lettuce and throws it into the salad bowl. William and Pete are still on the grocery run. The dogs are sitting by the stove hoping that Travis will drop something edible.

"So Matt told me that Zooey started talking to the mural I drew in her room," Travis says. "She thinks there are little people living in there."

"Did you draw something scary?" Gabe asks. "Try to turn her into a horror movie freak?"

"Yeah, I'm totally going to paint monsters on the wall in the room where she goes to sleep," Travis says. "I just did bunnies and cavemen and shit."

"She'll be an anthropologist," Gabe says. He stops chopping and pushes the cucumbers into the salad bowl. "Did we put dressing on the list? Otherwise we're going to have to eat this as is."

"It was on the list. Pete and William are getting it."

"I hope they don't get Hidden Valley again. I hate ranch." Bronx stops ripping up lettuce and pokes his head into the salad bowl, standing up on the edge of his chair. Gabe puts out a hand to stop him. "Bronx, be _careful_. You'll fall and hurt yourself."

Bronx looks disdainfully at Gabe, but sits back down and resumes tearing up lettuce. Travis stirs the sauce.

The front door opens and shuts. After a few minutes William comes staggering into the kitchen, weighted down with bags. "We got trapped in the longest line ever."

"Line that reached to China," Pete says, close at his heels. The dogs abandon Travis and rush over to Pete, barking. "Yeah, yeah. It's me. You see me every day, it's not that exciting."

"Did you bring back dressing?" Gabe says.

"Yes, Your Majesty," William says, reaching into one of his bags and handing Gabe a bottle.

"Vinaigrette," Gabe says happily. "Awesome."

"I'll get the pasta," William says. Bronx gets off his chair and goes to Pete, tugging him over to the salad bowl to examine his handiwork. Travis keeps stirring the sauce while William goes around him to grab a pot. William's better about touching, but it's easier for him if he does it first, and at his own pace.

William puts the water on to boil and lays the package of spaghetti out on the counter. He leans around Travis and wafts the marinara towards his face. "Mmm, that smells nice."

"Old family recipe," Travis says.

"Bullshit. He got it off the internet," Gabe says. Pete groans.

"Swear word!" Bronx says gleefully.

"Yeah, swear word," Pete says. "Gabe's got a filthy mouth, huh? You don't want to have a vocabulary like Gabe."

William rolls his eyes. "Let me taste it," he says to Travis.

Travis blows on the spoon and holds it out. William tastes it, nodding in approval, and then rips open the spaghetti. The kitchen smells like oregano and tomato and onion. The dogs come back to settle at Travis' feet while Gabe and Pete are laughing behind him, and William whistles softly as he salts the water.

He's happy living this way.


End file.
